


Three Sides of the Door

by Idlewild



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Avocados at Law, Bodily Functions, Embarrassment, Foggy does not enjoy this situation, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Karen is an honorary avocado, Karen needs to pee, Matt is sick, One POV per chapter, POV Alternating, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sickfic, Vomiting, pee desperation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:59:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idlewild/pseuds/Idlewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene from the same miserable morning in the life of the avocados, told from Foggy’s, Karen’s and Matt’s points of view respectively.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foggy

**Author's Note:**

> This was essentially a writing exercise I set myself to tell a short story from three different perspectives. Then Karen's part went on a little longer, and Matt's actually got a whole another scene because I wanted more h/c.

When Foggy had been alone at the office for about half an hour, he was starting to wonder where the other two were. Karen usually came in first, and mostly Matt was there too by the time Foggy arrived. He was rifling through some papers by the printer when Matt burst in, pale and harried. He didn’t stop to hang up his jacket and simply dropped his cane and bag to the floor. The cane clattered to a halt by Foggy’s feet as its owner rushed into their tiny bathroom.

‘You okay there, buddy?’ Foggy only just had time to ask as Matt shut the door and vomited copiously into the toilet. ‘Aw shit, Matty, why’d you even come in?’ he muttered.

Matt’s only response was more retching. It made Foggy’s skin crawl and his innate need to help kick in.

‘Do you want anything? Karen’s herbal whatsit?’

There was a moan from the washroom, followed by the faucet running. Then Matt answered, ‘No, it’s okay, really, don’t – you don’t wanna open this door, I don’t want you to catch this.’

‘We see each other every day, man, I probably did already if I was doing to. This won’t make any difference.’ Foggy winced as Matt’s knees hit the floor. Any water he had just drunk came right back up again. ‘Yeah, so I’m calling you a cab. Seriously, you shouldn’t come here if you’re sick…’

‘Didn’t feel so bad before. Thought it was just stress…’ said Matt unsteadily. Foggy wondered if it was normal for Matt to be so stressed that he could mistake a stomach flu or whatever for it, but Matt chose that moment to flush the toilet and once it had finished making a racket Foggy had thought better of asking.

He made good on his taxi vow instead. Horrible noises could be heard from the other side as he navigated the voice menus of the company – and then Karen arrived in such a flurry that he completely lost track and stopped pressing buttons. Like Matt minutes before, she forewent hanging her jacket and dropped her bag right there instead of going to place it neatly by her desk. She greeted Foggy in a strained tone and made a beeline for the bathroom, tugged at the handle and swore under her breath.

‘Hi, Karen…’ Foggy tried.

Karen yanked the handle again. ‘Matt?’

‘Matt’s sick,’ Foggy supplied as further sounds of heaving from in there corroborated not a second later.

‘I can hear that…’ said Karen in the voice of an eyeroll.

Matt groaned something that sounded a lot like “oh fuck.” Karen put a hand against the wall and squeezed her legs together.

‘Are you okay…?’ Foggy asked her for lack of better things to say, although he was fairly certain he could guess at the answer.

‘Yeah,’ said Karen. ‘No. I _really_ need to pee. I got stuck on the subway, had too much coffee – _shit!_ ’ She bent forward a bit, putting her other hand on her thigh. Foggy tried not to blush with second-hand embarrassment, but Karen wasn’t looking at him anyway.

‘Matt! Would you please come out of there?’

‘You really shouldn’t go in here,’ Matt told her. ‘Trust me, you don’t wanna catch whatever this is.’

Karen was rocking gently from foot to foot. ‘Look, right now I’ll take my chances. I’m seriously about to wet myself!’

Matt groaned and muttered, ‘Fine…’ He flushed again, which made Karen lean against the sink and cross her legs. Foggy was getting rather nervous from all these bodily functions basically exploding around him. He just stood there with his phone and its disconnected call still in hand as Matt stumbled out of the bathroom. Karen darted past him, slamming the door behind her and not even bothering to lock it. Foggy was more honed in on Matt, though, where he leaned back on the counter, almost mirroring Karen’s earlier position. He was all shivery and clammy-looking, somehow pale and flushed all at once. Foggy poured him a glass of water and told him to drink, but not too fast.

‘Sorry, the cab call got derailed,’ he said as Matt, surprisingly, obeyed. ‘You have a fever?’ He tried to make the statement sound like a question. Matt nodded with a sigh, clenching his jaw.

Foggy was about to reembark on his taxi mission when Matt whirled around abruptly and gripped the edge of the counter.

‘No no no no, Matt, please don’t throw up in the sink!’ Foggy exclaimed, lunging for the nearest bin. He shoved it towards Matt. ‘Here, trashcan.’ Matt had barely grabbed it before he was making use of it, but there wasn’t much for him to throw up. He spat a few times, looking miserable.

‘I’ll try the cab again, okay? Drink some more water.’

‘No point drinking…’

Foggy shrugged and began the pressing of numbers anew as behind him, Matt tried to get Karen to vacate the bathroom.

‘Right, cab’ll be here in five.’ He went back in the kitchenette and laid a hand gently on Matt’s back.

Matt shuddered and, instead of acknowledging Foggy’s words, said, ‘Could you get my bag from under my desk?’

‘Your workout bag?’

Matt nodded and Foggy obliged, though perplexed. His friend had sat down on the floor next to the trashcan when he returned.

‘Karen?’ said Matt, ‘Here.’ Then he gripped the can again, his whole body heaving fruitlessly.

‘Thanks,’ said Karen apologetically as she opened the door a crack, taking the bag from Foggy and vanishing back inside with it. Foggy had given up trying to imagine what was up with all this; he just urged Matt to get to his feet.

‘All right, Matty. Cab time. Come on, let’s skedaddle.’ Matt nodded. Foggy gave him his cane, called out ‘See you, Karen!’ and they were just leaving when she emerged from the bathroom.

‘I should probably take him, I’ve already been contaminated…’ she said, half-grinning.

‘So have I,’ Foggy countered, nodding towards the accursed bin – which would probably need to be salted and burned after this. ‘Would you stay here and man the ship until I’m back?’

Karen agreed with a shrug and Foggy led Matt out the door.


	2. Karen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this one: pee, obviously. Sorry not sorry.

When Karen finally got to work, she could hardly walk up the stairs without causing a deluge. Torn between running and shuffling, she settled on the middle ground of short, rapid steps down the corridor. Their office door was open a crack but Karen barely noticed and certainly didn’t stop to wonder about it as she hobbled inside. Foggy was hanging aimlessly about by the kitchenette and she managed a nod of greeting by dint of hard-instilled manners as she dropped her bag and dashed for the toilet.

The door was locked. Karen’s stomach dropped. Foggy said something behind her and she yanked the handle again. ‘Matt?’

‘Matt’s sick,’ Foggy informed her, the statement punctuated by sounds of hurling from inside the bathroom.

‘I can hear that…’ Karen sighed. Matt whined something behind the door while she leaned on the wall and glued her thighs together.

‘Are you okay…?’ Foggy asked awkwardly behind her, annoying her since she was certain that her predicament was as obvious as could be. Still, manners.

‘Yeah.’ Her bladder spasmed like it was telling her off for lying. Screw manners, Foggy would understand. ‘No,’ she amended, ‘I _really_ need to pee. I got stuck on the subway, had too much coffee –’ She broke off and hissed an expletive through her teeth as she was forced to almost double over, stopping a potential disaster before it could progress further than her underwear. She couldn’t look at Foggy.

‘Matt!’ she repeated, hating the waver of her voice. ‘Would you please come out of there?’ It would be her pants next if he didn’t.

‘You really shouldn’t go in here,’ said Matt in an unsteady tone of his own. ‘Trust me, you don’t wanna catch whatever this is…’

Karen was _so_ far beyond caring. ‘Look, right now I’ll take my chances. I’m seriously about to wet myself!’

Matt caved, bless him. Then he flushed the toilet and oh _fuck_ , that was not good. _Not good_. She leaned on the counter and double-crossed her legs, breath stuttering. The second Matt opened up, she slithered past him and slammed the door shut behind her, then bounced up and down trying to undo the stupid fly.

It was a close call, but she sat down in time and moaned with relief, oblivious to the world. Then she realised that she still had her panties on and restrained a hysterical giggle. Well, they had already been wet anyway. This mishap made her take longer than normal to finish up, though, and Matt was at the door now, sounding completely wretched.

‘Karen, are you about done in there?’

‘Yeah, hang on!’ She stuffed her undies in the trash, washed her hands, then had an idea about how she might avoid going commando for the rest of the day. ‘Hey Matt?’

‘Mm?’

‘D’you have… Can I…’ Oh damn it, this was embarrassing. ‘You have spare everything in your workout bag, right?’

‘Mhm?’ Matt confirmed.

In for a penny… ‘Could I please borrow some underwear?’ There, she said it.

Karen was certain that Matt could sense her blushing through the door, but he simply said, ‘Yeah, sure,’ then asked Foggy to fetch the bag for her. She stood there by the washbasin with her pants dangling awkwardly from one hand until Matt said her name – from down on the floor, it seemed. When she went to open the door, she found it already unlocked and shook her head in exasperation at herself.

She peeked through to find Matt vomiting into her office trashcan and she felt terrible for him, but she just snatched the bag from Foggy with a muted ‘thanks’ and got back in to rummage through it quickly. Simple black boxer briefs. At least that was the best possible outcome to this utterly awful situation.

Foggy was about to take Matt down to his cab – a cab, excellent plan – and Karen pulled her pants on hurriedly to catch them up.

‘I should probably take him,’ she suggested, ‘I’ve already been contaminated…’

Foggy indicated the fouled trashcan and said he had too, so Karen agreed to stay and keep shop until he got back – although clients coming in here today would definitely be a shitty idea. Then she had a thought and dove into her hastily discarded purse, coming up with a folded plastic bag. She unfurled it as she ran after her bosses.

‘Here,’ she told Matt, shoving it in his jacket, ‘in case.’

Matt looked equal parts embarrassed and thankful, much like Karen felt wearing his boxers. Foggy thanked her and they were off down the stairs. Karen stood there practically barefoot, looking after them and shaking her head at herself again, and at this whole weird-ass morning, before going back to work.


	3. Matt

When Matt made it to their office building it was all he could do not to sink onto the stairs and pass out. But he couldn’t let himself throw up in the stairwell, and he was pretty sure he would if he loitered here too long. No, make that totally sure – now he had an impetus to make it upstairs, the faster the better.

 _The mind controls the body_ , he reminded himself, repeating it like a mantra, _the mind controls the body_ , trying to distract himself more than anything, _the mind controls the body, do not puke in the hallway_.

He was feeling disgustingly weak and shaky as well as increasingly dizzy when he stumbled into the office. Foggy was there, his heart immediately going nervous-sounding at the sight of Matt, but Matt couldn’t spare him any thought right then. He dropped his things pell-mell and only barely made it to the toilet before his stomach decided that enough was enough.

Foggy was talking to him, vaguely berating him for going to work while ill, but he couldn’t exactly respond. When the nausea finally receded somewhat, he straightened up, found the vertigo manageable and leaned over the washbasin to rinse his mouth. He gulped down some water; Foggy asked if he wanted tea or something. But even the water seemed to have been a bad idea, and besides…

‘No, it’s okay, really, don’t –’ pause for a steadying breath ‘– you don’t wanna open this door, I don’t want you to catch this.’ He leaned back against the wall, holding on to the cool porcelain of the washbasin for support.

‘We see each other every day, man; I probably did already,’ said Foggy, and yeah, fair point. The next part of his objection was drowned out by another wave of nausea, and Matt collapsed in front of the toilet. Yep, water had been a bad idea.

‘Yeah, so I’m calling you a cab,’ Foggy informed him, dry tone trying and largely failing to camouflage his concern. ‘Seriously, you shouldn’t come here if you’re sick.’

Matt leaned his shoulder against the door. ‘Didn’t feel so bad before. Thought it was just stress.’ Which was true, although he wouldn’t have said it out loud if his brain hadn’t been fever-addled into honesty mode. He had woken up all sore and exhausted, stressed because he’d overslept, then had apple juice since there was no time to make coffee. Juice on an empty stomach, compounded by stress… achy from being out last night… it _had_ made sense.

Whatever Foggy was about to say got purposely cut off by flushing – Matt didn’t want to answer any questions about his general stress levels, thank you very much. Or cop any flak about not listening to his body, for that matter. He apparently should have, though, because now his bowels were gurgling unpleasantly, his temperature was up at least two degrees – and still climbing, judging by the chills – and his muscles felt like vapour around steel tendons.

He plunked himself on the toilet as Foggy tried to get him a cab, and then Karen came rushing into the office. Her heart was going nuts in a way Matt had never heard it before, and she was at the door almost instantaneously, yanking on the handle, ignoring Foggy, yanking some more, calling Matt’s name.

Nausea welled up again, as sudden as it was intense. The washbasin was right there, which was lucky because he really didn’t want to throw up in the toilet with the state it was in now. Foggy unnecessarily informed Karen of the situation while Matt’s stomach was trying to wring itself inside out and producing noting but bile and saliva. He leaned his burning forehead against the side of the washbasin. ‘Oh fuck…’ he moaned, quite despite himself. He felt utterly awful, but at least his bowels seemed to be done rebelling for the time being.

Foggy asked Karen if she was okay. ‘Yeah,’ she lied. Her heart switched to an even higher gear. ‘No. I _really_ need to pee.’ She gave Foggy a very brief account of her morning, which seemed to have been about as horrid as Matt’s, but cut herself off with a curse.

‘Matt! Would you please come out of there?’ She sounded genuinely desperate, but Matt didn’t really want her going in what with the germs and all. He told her as much.

‘Look, right now I’ll take my chances,’ she insisted, dancing on the spot. ‘I’m seriously about to wet myself!’

Matt took pity on her. ‘Fine…’ he muttered, getting up to flush and wash his hands.

When he got out into the hall with the tiny kitchen, he realised that Karen hadn’t been exaggerating; he doubted anyone else would notice, but he could smell pee on her. He felt bad then, but at least she made it. He heard her mumbling, ‘Oh thank god…’ only seconds after closing the door.

Matt leaned heavily on the counter, shivering. The room felt like it was rocking side-to-side. Foggy handed him a glass of cold water and he decided to drink some despite his earlier failure.

‘Sorry, the cab call got derailed,’ said Foggy. ‘You have a fever?’

Matt nodded because it was no use trying to conceal anything right now. He was sure he looked like shit; he certainly felt like it. He set the half-full glass on the worktop, breathing carefully in an attempt to keep down what he had drunk, but it was futile. Foggy vehemently stopped him from being sick in the sink, which was probably a good call, and handed him a trashcan instead.

‘I’ll try the cab again, okay?’ he said when Matt gave him back the sorry receptacle. He set it on the floor by Matt’s feet. ‘Drink some more water.’

‘No point drinking…’ Matt whined, glad that Foggy didn’t insist. And how long was Karen going to occupy the bathroom anyway?

‘Karen, are you about done in there?’

‘Yeah, hang on!’ Karen sounded pretty distressed. Rustling sounds emerged from inside. Matt _was_ hanging on, relieved at least that his bowels had decided to behave. For now. He was getting a terrible stomachache, though.

‘Hey Matt?’ Karen asked timidly. ‘Do you have… Can I… You have spare everything in your workout bag, right?’ He hummed an affirmative. ‘Could I please borrow some underwear?’ He could practically hear her blushing – biting her lip, shuffling her feet. Poor Karen, she had to be mortified.

He told her yes, trying to convey understanding without too much pity as behind him Foggy announced the cab business in order. He came over and put a hand on Matt’s back, making his skin ache and his muscles jump.

‘Could you get my bag from under my desk?’ he asked, because getting it himself seemed like way more than he could handle. Even _standing_ was getting to be more than he could handle, in fact. He slid down the wall, sitting reassuringly close to the bin and trying to convince himself that the floor wasn’t actually billowing and his brain wasn’t actually about to melt and come flowing out of his eye sockets.

Foggy came back with the bag, Matt announced as much to Karen, and then his stomach apparently decided that an open mouth was an invitation. It didn’t even produce anything for its efforts; Matt was beginning to fiercely hate its shenanigans.

Foggy had given Karen the bag and was now hunkering down next to Matt, reminding him of the cab and helping him to his feet. Matt accepted his cane with one hand and grabbed Foggy’s arm with the other, but before they made it out of the door, Karen dashed up to them.

‘I should probably take him, I’ve already been contaminated…’ she said, and Matt was too out of it to even care that she was talking about him in the third person like that.

‘So have I,’ Foggy muttered. ‘Would you stay here and man the ship until I’m back?’

Matt was honestly grateful that Foggy was clearly planning to take him home, because he was having to lean increasingly on his arm in order to walk upright as they left the office. White canes simply did not lend themselves to actual bodily support.

Karen came after them in just her socks – her shoes were probably still in the bathroom – and stuffed a plastic bag into Matt’s pocket, ‘in case.’ He tried to convey his gratitude with his face because he didn’t want to open his mouth if he could help it. Foggy thanked her, though.

The cab was there when they got to the street. Matt was sure they could have caught one in two shakes without the hassle of ordering – this was New York, after all – but it was certainly convenient this way.

Foggy bundled them both into the backseat and Matt leaned his pounding head on his shoulder, one hand wrapped around that plastic bag. He prayed silently that he wouldn’t need it, using Foggy’s steady presence as an anchor in a world that seemed to be moving disturbingly off-kilter.

Matt would ordinarily have felt silly taking a cab for less than a mile, but he had to admit that even the walk up the stairs drained every last bit of his strength. Foggy deposited him on the bed and helped him change – that is, he took the clothes that Matt doffed and handed him sweats and a tee – then went to get water and a bucket from the kitchen.

‘Let’s check your temp, hey?’ he said. Matt could probably have provided it for him if he’d had enough energy to assess it in more detail than “too hot”, but crawling under the covers was the most complex task his brain seemed willing to allow him at the moment. 

He dutifully closed his mouth around the thermometer Foggy handed him, holding it in place as his teeth tried to clatter and dislodge it. Foggy plopped a pair of fizzing tablets in the water glass – Gastrolyte, its lemony smell pervading the room.

‘One oh two point two,’ the thermometer bleeped, which sounded about right. Foggy sighed and went to get Tylenol, making Matt take two even though they both knew he wouldn’t be able to keep them down. His stomach was absolutely killing him by now and he curled into a ball around it, gritting his teeth.

‘Sorry, man, I should be getting back,’ said Foggy. Matt nodded. He only wanted to be left alone with his misery anyway. ‘Try and get some sleep. I’ll come back and check on you later.’

 _Unless you come down with this atrocity too_ , Matt thought but didn’t say. He simply nodded again, and Foggy raked a hand through his sweaty hair, once, twice, before going.

‘See you later, buddy!’ he called from the hall.

Matt managed to avoid throwing up the pills and rehydration fluid until after Foggy had left. This time, he didn’t even bother trying to drink any more. He just curled up tightly under far fewer blankets than his body seemed to want him to and tried to meditate away the pain and nausea. It must have worked at least acceptably, because he drifted off to sleep in a room that was only wobbling slightly at the edges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes this writing exercise and the literary torture of our poor dear avocados. Thank you for reading!


End file.
